


grandfather clock

by fishysama



Series: goretober 2020!!! [11]
Category: Junjou Romantica
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Brutal Murder, Gore, Goretober, Goretober 2020, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Guro, Horror, M/M, Murder, Pining, Sleepy Cuddles, Suspense, Thriller, ghbjkljhgjuhgvhuihguj, hoohoooooooooo, lmao dsgfrnhgfrds, okay i'll stop sdfgbergth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26997511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishysama/pseuds/fishysama
Summary: goretober day 11: thrillersomething's in the bedroom.
Relationships: Takahashi Misaki/Usami Akihiko
Series: goretober 2020!!! [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950796
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	grandfather clock

At the Usami household, the grandfather clock chimes three times. Misaki opens his eyes slowly, fearful that he managed to oversleep well into the afternoon. He hadn’t, thankfully; the room is black with night, not even the sound of cars passing by disturbing the stillness of the air.

Still, that anxiety sticks. He stretches upwards, letting out a soft yawn. This occasionally happens to him: the mere idea of missing an appointment or forgetting to hand in an assignment or sleeping until three in the afternoon immediately starting him out of sleep. He looks over at his lover guiltily, becoming reaware of his nudeness as the sheets fall off his torso. He struggles between whether he should pry Suzuki-san from Akihiko’s arms and wrap them around himself or fetch some milk downstairs to bring him back to a slumberful mindset. He hears Akihiko’s breath in the night air: quick, alert respiration.

Misaki smiles to himself—the lights are off; there’s no way that Akihiko can tease him for being happy. “Are you awake too, Usagi?” Perhaps they could get a glass of milk together and watch late-night television— _true_ late-night television: infomercials, religious programming, reruns of decade-old shows that never gained traction—until falling asleep in each other’s arms as the sun rises, spread across the couch at odd angles.

Akihiko doesn’t respond. Something drips. The breathing continues.

 _He’s having a nightmare, maybe?_ Maybe, but the new, wet sounds. The breathing. The smell hits when Misaki turns his head and sees the darker than black figure on the edge of the bed, standing over Akihiko. The rapid agitations of its chest.

Misaki freezes. His heart stops and hastens at the same time. He sinks back into the mattress, pulling the sheets up to his neck. He would cover his head, but shrouding the figure in mystery felt worse than seeing it for what it is. Whatever it is.

Misaki’s eyes flit back and forth across the room, trying to find clues in the void. He wants it to be a monster he can face and scare away. He wants it to be a ghost that dissolves into the air as if it were never there to begin with. He wants it to be a murderer that turns sharply and kills him, a quick bullet to the head. He wants it to be a hallucination; he wants to remember that he forgot to take his pills.

He wants to see Akihiko’s chest rise, the slow way that chests rise in sleep. He wants him to turn and lightly kick Misaki’s shin, or kiss his cheek before he rises to use the bathroom and wash his face. He even wants Akihiko’s perverted hand to shimmy under the sheets to grab Misaki’s ass, simply for the pleasure in watching him peep and squirm and swat at the intrusion, face full of blood.

He wants to wake up from the nightmare, throw Suzuki-san to the side, and let Akihiko pet his hair and coo him back to sleep, for them to wake intertwined and linger in the morning, not wanting to leave each other with varying degrees of secrecy.

After an hour of Misaki lying sleepless on his back, a car passes by. From under the curtain, the light lands first on Misaki’s fearful, open eyes, then Akihiko corpse, head bashed to the point where Misaki isn’t sure if it’s a body double for a prank, a terrible, illegal prank. His cranium is split into two messy halves, pools of congealed blood and taffy-like brain matter soaking into his cream pillowcase, into the matted fur of his stuffed bear. His eyes hang from their sockets like boogers from a child’s nose. His lower jaw remains intact, lips drawn back to reveal his teeth. Just a moment of light, and yet, Misaki saw it all. Lodged every last detail into his mind.

The headlights move onto the man last, not a specter, a hallucination, or Akihiko himself, waiting for the right moment to reveal his master prank. He wears a pantyhose stocking over his head. Blood dripping from the steel baseball bat.

The light goes away and Misaki hears the floorboard creak. He’s in too much shock for the tears to form in his eyes, for the tension in his throat to well into a scream. Another footstep; sturdy, determined. Rubber-soled boots. Misaki bites hard on his lip, twisting his neck and digging his nails deep into the heels of his palm. One more step, and then silence.

This is the part where Misaki is supposed to think of ways to defend himself, ways to escape the man’s grasp, ways to survive the worst night of his life. He doesn’t want to. Before this, he never understood the idea of being driven to suicide, how a series of events could add up, and the best solution being one’s own death. He sees it now. Watching the open door to his escape, he reaches over and takes Akihiko’s limp hand in his, curling their fingers together.

The lamp turns on. The killer looks Misaki in the eye, face distorted with pale nylon. He raises the bat.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://juroguro.tumblr.com/)


End file.
